Letters from the new pastor- Dear Church, some days are diamonds

Some days are diamonds
Some days are rocks
-Tom Petty

I feel like I'm in a perpetual state of catching my breath. I haven't (yet, fingers crossed) had Covid (that I know of), but I think that "catching my breath" is an apropos image for this season of life and (so far) for the 2020s. One thing and then another-- boom, boom, crash, sleep, jarred to an awakened state. And just when we catch our breath, another whirlwind.

Pastorally, I've never been more clear: serve, love and shepherd the church of Jesus. Find lost sheep-- point them to Jesus. Sit with the hurting. Hold the dying. Allow the peace of Jesus to enter my space, to be louder than the whirling vortex we seem to be caught up inside. All of this is abstract and personal; intangible yet splintered in my skin. I'm not alone.

Twenty months in and I still feel like the new pastor. I'm still catching my breath. I'm still introducing myself. But there are more new people with us now, so we're not the only ones. Covid brings a dynamic of newness and familiar fatigue at the same time. I didn't think I'd still be feeling this particular whirlwind at this point, but we buried another dear saint this week. I loved him. It hasn't hit me yet that he's gone, but I know he is. The tears and grief around me are more than enough proof, along with the haphazard sermon I delivered at his funeral. I've never changed a funeral sermon before in the middle of the funeral-- but it felt right. So I just did it. Newness, spirit, worn out, faded.

I see our church digging out of the mud of this season of Covid, transition-- and I sense an urgency. I don't know what the next decade will hold, but I am sure of what it will produce: a welcome to the person who is not yet welcome, a dying to our selves and giving away for the glory of God, a releasing and open handed response to the love of Jesus pouring out and rippling through Stanly County and beyond. This isn't lament, but maybe some of it is? There is hope and expectation wrapped in all of it. Maybe hope and lament can coexist after all.

Our family is tired: my immediate family, extended family, church family, our community. Yet, there is so much of God's work that He is doing through us, it is amazing. I see the church of Jesus working and giving their best love to those who are hurting. I sat in the church service yesterday, where my friend, David, shared a message rooted in the love of Jesus, and it made us all squirm, because deep down we know that we cant really love God if we don't love our neighbor. And it haunts us, this idea that showing kindness is the same thing as love. But it lights a fire, as well. The texts and messages I've received have been dripping with anticipation-- is now the time? Can we start something new, now? We know kindness is the beginning of showing love, but it is in itself not a full expression of real love, just a glimpse, just a start. We know we are called to do more than tolerate or smile when it comes to loving others.

And in the middle of all of this, I tiptoe through research in a doctoral program-- eager to produce and write and deliver something that matters, for God's glory, for his church. I also have no idea what I'm doing, and have told (with very comforting words) that this is normal. I vacillate on many topics and items and potential subjects, so much potential. Yet I am quite certain that I want to write about how transition in the church, while not necessarily popular, is an indispensable opportunity for deep spiritual formation. We simply can't grow in the ways of Jesus if we reduce transition to necessary evils or, even worse, moments where we let the real leaders just be smart and do everything behind closed doors. No, transitions are divine interventions. Moments where, if opened and shared, will do more to transform and push forward the Kingdom of God in our churches than we could imagine. But we'll miss it if our egos get in the way. If our pride, fear, anger or flat out resistance causes us to bail-- we will be faced in the future with the same opportunity for growth.

So, if you pray, please pick something and intercede for our church, for your church, for your pastor and your people. Let the whirlwind push you to an anticipation of something larger than these breathless moments. Maybe, just maybe, you'll catch of glimpse of a God vision that will make you step back with trepidation, because we haven't been this way before. Behold, He is doing a new thing. These tensions and opportunities aren't unique, but they sure are special.